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Pome dToIlcgc Strict. 



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.-- Two. 



William Woudsworth 



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BY 



DA^NIEL ^VSTISE, D.D, 



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NEW YORK: 
PHILLIPS & HUNT 

CINCINNATI: 

WALDEN & STOWE. 

1883. 






The "Home College Series'' will contain one hundred short papers on 
a wide rauge of subjects — biographical, historical, scientitic, literary, domes- 
tic, political, and religious. Indeed, the religious tone will characterize all 
of tliera. They are written for every body — for all whose leisure is limited, 
but who desire to use tlie minutes for the enricliment of hfe. 

These papers contain seeds from the best gardens in all the world of 
luimaii knowledge, and if dropped wisely into good soil, will bring forth 
harvests of beauty and value. 

They are for the young — especially for young people (and older people, 
too.) who are out of the schools, who are full of "business" and "cares," 
who are in danger of reading nothing, or of reading a sensational literature 
tliat is worse than nothing. 

One of these papers a week read over and over, thought and talked about 
at "odd times," will give in one year a vast fund of information, an intel- 
lectual quickening, worth even moi-e than the mere knowledge required, a 
taste for solid reading, many hours of simple and wholesome pleasure, and 
abihty to talk intelligently and lielpfully to one's fi'iends. 

Pastors may organize "Home College" classes, or "Lyceum Reading 
Unions," or "Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circles," and help the 
young people to read nnd think and talk and live to worthier purpose. 

A young man may have his own little "college," all by himself, read this 
series of tracts one after the other, (there will soon be one hundred of them 
ready,) examine himself on them by the " Thought-Outline to Help the Mem- 
ory," and tlius gain knowledge, and, what is better, a love of knowledge. 

And what a young man may do in this respect a young woman, and both 
old men. and old women, may do. 

J. H. YlNCENT. 
jSTew York, Jan., 1883. 



Copyright, 1888, by Phillips & IIujst, New York. 



^ Pome College Series, dumber Ctoo. 

t- WILLIAM WOEDSWORTH. 

^ L ^ 

BY DANIEL WISE, D.D. 



William Wordsworth was born in an old manor house 
belonging to the Earl of Lonsdale, at Cockermonth in Cum- 
berland, England, on the 7th of April, 1770. Though not of 
what is sometimes called "gentle blood," he was of honor- 
able descent. The families of both his father and mother 
were ancient, and, though not noble, were yet of " good de- 
gree." His father was an attorney and managed a goodly 
portion of the wide domain of the Earl of Lonsdale, as that 
nobleman's law agent. William was the second of four sons. 
He had but one sister, named Dorothy, who was next to him 
in age, and of whom more w^ill be said hereafter. 

The place of Wordsworth's birth was on the banks of the 
Derwent, which he calls "fairest of all rivers." Little is 
known of his child-life beyond the fact that when five years 
old he was permitted to spend his summer days bathing in a 
mill-race on the banks of the Derwent. There he was to be 
seen, " now in the water, now out of it, now scouring the sandy 
fields naked as a savage, while the hot thundery noon was 
bronzing distant Skiddaw, and then plunging in once more." 

From this statement it would seem that little restraint was 
put upon his young life. Yet his free life on that river wa^ 
not without its influence on his tastes and character; for, he 
tells us that " the voice of that stream flowed along his dreams 
while he was a child." Already he had an ear for the sounds 
of nature which made the ripple of the crystal river sound 
like sweet music in his young soul. 

His mother, described as a wise and pious w^oman, was 
wont to say of him, " W^illiam is tlie only one of my chil- 
dren about whom I feel anxious. I am sure he will be re- 
markable either for good or evil. According to the Scottish 



William Wordsworth. 



proverb, he will either * make a spoon or spoil a horn.' " 
The cause of this good mother's anxiety was w^hat the poet 
calls his "^ stiff, moody, and violent temper." Herein he 
illustrates his well-known line, " the child is father of the 
man," in that his early moodiness grew into the meditative- 
ness which gave character to his poetry, and his self-willed 
temper, when shorn of its unreasoning violence, became that 
unconquerable resolve by which he conquered the prejudices 
of society and won recognition as a true and great poet. 

But his mother was not permitted to outlive her anxieties, 
and to see its c;mse shed such luster on the family name as to 
give it immortality on earth. When William was only eight 
years old she died, leaving only a dim but tender recollec- 
tion of her person on her boy's mind. One year after her 
death the poet and his elder brother were sent away to school 
at Ilawkshead, a villige situated amid beautiful scenery. 

The life of the boys at this school was better fitted to de- 
velop their physical than their mental powers. They boarded 
with the village dames in their cottages, and out of school 
hours were allowed to wander, at their own sweet will, in the 
fields, to range the woods, to climb the crags in search of 
ravens' nests, to skate on Esthwaite lake in winter, and boat 
on more distant Windermere in summer. In all these advent- 
ures William was a leader. None could ply a sturdier oar or 
climb a more dizzy crag than he. When he was in his four- 
teenth year his father, disheartened by his wife's death, fol- 
lowed her to the grave. But the poet was kept at Hawks- 
head until he was nearly eighteen, and was then sent to St. 
John's College, Cambridge University. 

His years at Havvkshead had not been wholly given to free 
life in the fields, but sufiiciently to study to enable him to 
enter college, if not with eclat, yet on an equality with the 
average freshman. Neither at school nor in after life was he 
given to much reading. Yet he had made himself familiar 
with the English ix)ets, and had begun to feel that passion 



Willi ajn Wordsworth. 



for natural objects which was the fountain of his poetic power. 
Here also he liad begun those close observations of natural 
objects which were to become the groundwork of many of 
Ills poems, lie began tliis habit, he tells us, when only four- 
tren years old, while walking between Hawksliead and Am- 
bleside. It was the sunset hour, an<l he noticed that the 
leaves and boughs of the oak grew dark and stood out when 
seen against the sunset. The discovery gave him extreme 
pleasure. Speaking of that hour fifty years afterward, he 
said, "That moment was important in my poetical history. I 
date from it my consciousness of the infinite variety of nat- 
ural appearances which had been unnoticed by the poets of 
any age or country so far as I was acquainted with them. 
And I made a resolution to supply in some degree that 
deficiency." 

Most faithfully did he keep that resolution, since, as Pro- 
fessor Shairp observes, "Perhaps no poet since Homer has 
introduced into poetry, directly from nature, more facts and 
images not before noted in books," 

Wordsworth at Cambridge was by no means a shining light. 
During bis freshman year, instead of consecrating his life to 
it^ prescribed studies, he surrendered himself to jolly com- 
panionship, "turned dandy, wore hose of silk, and powdered 
hair, wasted his hours in idle sports, drank wine at convivial 
sn})per parties, and once, in the room that had been Milton's, 
toasted the memory of that great poet until the strong wine 
made his brain reel." This was, however, his oidy fall into 
a state of intoxication. To his honor be it said that through 
the greater part of his subsequent life he was a strict water- 
drinker. Of himself, at this time, he says : 

" If a throng were near, 
That way I leaned by nature; for my heart 
Was social, and loved idleness and joy." 

Happily for himself, if not for mankind, he grew weary of 
his follies before they had time to grow into over-mastering 



William Wordswoj'th. 



vices. There was something in his nature that rebelled 
against tlie masterhood of low passions, as it did also against 
"the fetters whicli college contests and academic etiquette 
exacted." Hence, though he soon forsook the merry throng 
of university idlers and lived in almost solitary quietness, he 
did not fully surrender himself to the prescribed studies of 
liis class. He preferred Chaucer, S23enser, and Milton to his 
college text-books. His thoughts dwelt more with the great 
Englishmen who had " of old tenanted that garden of high 
intellects," than with the problems of mathematics or the he- 
roes of more ancient times. Hence, although he took a " com- 
mon degree," yet he left Cambridge in 1789 with only a poor 
reputation for scholarship, and without any apprehension on 
the part of his tutors or college dons, that back of his almost 
insubordinate independence and scholastic distastes, there lay 
hidden and latent a poetic nature which was ere long to learn 

" To look on nature, not as in the hour 

Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes 

The still sad music of humanity." 

The relatives of this wayward young man were sadly per- 
plexed by his neglect to make his college life his golden 
opportunity to prepare himself for some profitable profession. 
He had no fortune, and no prospect but to live by the fruit 
of his own labor. They had strained their resources to carry 
him through the university. They were looking with eagei- 
interest to learn what he meant to do for himself. For his 
own part, he appeared to be purposeless, though in his own 
mind he had secretly resolved to be a poet. . How to live 
meantime, until his poetry could be written and made a com- 
modity exchangeable for gold, gave him little care. And 
after his graduation he spent several months in London idly 
wandering about the streets, haunting the book-stalls, *and 
observing the ways of men, but neither earning inoney nor 
trying to find the means of earning it. 



William Wordsworth. 



The following summer he spent in North Wales with Mr. 
Robert Jones, a fellow-student, with whom he had delight- 
fully spent his last college vacation making a pedestrian 
tour of the continent of Europe. They now made a tour 
of Wales on foot, during which Wordsworth wrote his 
*' Descriptive Sketches," wliich were not published until two 
years afterward. 

In the winter of 1791 our poet found his way to Paris, 
which was then in the throes of its terrible Revolution. He 
had previously caught the fever of that liberty which in 
France, being based not on scriptural views of human rights 
and duties, but on infidelity, soon lapsed into tlie tyranny of 
a blood-thirsty mob. He now threw himself into its discus- 
sions, associated with a political party known as the " Bris- 
Botins," and fondly, but fooHshly, dreamed that a golden age 
was dawning, in which all wrong would be righted and the 
world be transformed into a garden of delights : 

"Before him shone a glorious world, 
Fresh as a banner, bright, unfurled." 

He would probably have perished with his political friends on 
the scaffold if his relatives at home, hearing of his peril, had 
not compelled his return by refusing him further supplies of 
money. 

The sad outcome of the French Revolution dissolved his 
golden, but fanciful, dreams of popular freedom, and almost 
dethroned his reason. Vexed, disappointed,- melancholy, dis- 
gusted with humanity, hopeless of its future, he stood on the 
brink of skeptical despair. When tJiis blackness was closing 
in upon him his ministering angel appeared in the person of 
his only sister, Dorothy. She alone, perhaps, among his friends 
comprehended his character, and knew the secret charm by 
which to win him back to healthful views of life, and to re- 
vive in him that profound sympathy with nature and with 
human society which was necessary to the further develop- 



6 William Wordsworth. 

merit of his great poetic power and of the better side of his 
nature. 

Dorothy, therefore, wisely persuaded him to join her in a 
tour on foot through some of the most beautiful districts of 
their native land. Skillfully avoiding questions of pliilosopliy, 
that gentle maiden led him into his former habit of observing 
natural objects. She guided him into places unfrequented 
by city multitudes, and undisturbed by reports of the great 
events which were stirring men's hearts into feverish and un- 
he ilthy passions. She placed him in personal contact Avith 
the simple-minded, virtuous poor. By freely conversing with 
many such, Wordsworth discovered noble purposes, great 
hearts, fine affections, lives made truly grand by Christian 
faith, " in huts where poor men lie." Then he looked on nat- 
ure with his old delight, and " with a fuller consciousness 
of the source whence its beauty comes." He also looked 
" once more on common life, with love and imaginative de- 
light : " 

"Of these, said I, shall be my song : of these, 

If future years mature rae for the task, 

Will I record the praises, making verse 

Deal boldly with substantial things. My theme 

No other than the very heart of man. 

As found among the best of those who live — 

Not unexalted by religious failh, 

Not uninformed by books, good books, though few — 

In nature's presence : thence may I select 

Sorrow that is not sorrow, but delight ; 

And miwserable love, that is not pain 

To think of, for the glory that redounds 

Therefrom to human kind and what we are." 

Thus the poet was saved from pliilosophical skepticism and 
mental distraction ; thus he was prepared to fulfill his great 
poetic mission. Most gracefully does he recognize his indebt- 
edness to the devoted Dorothy for this supreme result in 
these tender, beautiful lines ; 



WilliafH Wordsworth. 



"She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; 
And humble cares, and delicate fears; 
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears, 
And love, and thought, and joy." 

Wordsworth's restoration to mental health was gradual, 
and when it was accomplished it did not settle the practical 
question of how to live. His friends could not long continue 
to feed his purse, and they urged him either to enter the 
Church or study for the bar. He recoiled from both these 
professions, neither of which was suited to his tastes or to 
the bent of his mind. Yet, looking his pecuniary needs in 
the face, he felt compelled to ask : 

" How can he expect that others should 
Build for him, sow for him. and at his call 
Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all? " 

Then he sought an engagement on a London newspaper. 
Fortunately for the growth of his genius, he was at that 
juncture called to minister at the couch of liis young friend, 
Raisley Calvert, who was sick with consumption. Through 
many weary months the poet brightened the slowly-expiring 
life of his friend. After Mr. Calvert's death Wordsworth, 
to his great surprise, found that his friend had left him a leg- 
acy of £900. It was a small sum, but it solved the problem 
which was becoming very perplexing. His habits being inex- 
pensive and his desires moderate, it was sufficient for his 
present maintenance. It also enabled him to go to house- 
keeping, in humble fashion, at Racedown, Dorsetshire, in 
1795, with his gentle sister as his housekeeper. 

This was one of those extiaordinary Providences which 
very rarely enter into the lives of young men so indifferent to 
the duty of self-dependence as Wordsworth had been. It 
was a timely gift of grateful love from Mr. Calvert by which 
the great All-Father provided for the earth-born needs of the 
poet, that he might be at liberty to minister at nature's altar 



William Wordsworth. 



as one of her high-priests, and to teach mankind to find in 
the visible world "the means of high communion with tlie 
good and the pure throughout tlie universe." 

Wordsworth's life at Racedown was spent in the quiet en- 
joyment of his sister's society, and in the cultivntion of liis 
great poetical abilities. Its most important incident was a 
visit from S. T. Coleiidge, who, having found in Words- 
worth's "Descriptive Sketches" something he had never 
found in poetry before, sought the author's acquaintance. 
They were kindred spirits, every way fitted to hold high in- 
tellectual fellowship together. When Coleridge left Race- 
down he paid his brother poet the high compliment of saying, 

"I felt myself a small man beside Wordsworth." 

And Wordsworth, with reciprocal admiration, observed, " I 
have known many men who have done wonderful things; but 
the only wonderful man I ever knew was Coleridge." 

Among the results of this visit was Wordsw^orth's removal, 
in 1797, to Alfoxden House, in Somersetshire, that he might 
become neighbor to Coleridge. Their intercourse, as they 
wandered amid the beautiful scenery in their neighborhood, 
was as stimulating to their poetic gifts as it was socially de- 
lightful. They were both poor, and, having planned a walk- 
ing tour for which their scanty purses could not provide, 
they agreed to compose a joint poem, the sale of which to 
some magazine might provide the five pounds needed for 
their proposed journey. Out of this little scheme grew that 
weird, imperishable poem, " The Ancient Mariner," mostly 
written by Coleridge. But their work growing under their 
free-flowing pens beyond the limits of a magazine article, 
they soon determined to prepare a joint volume to contain, 
besides " The Ancient Mariner," a collection of Wordsworth's 
ballads. When it was completed they named it "Lyrical 
Ballads," and sold the copyright to Josejih Cottle, of Bristol, 
for the paltry sum of thirty pounds, with an additional 
amount paid to Coleridge for the "Rime of the Ancient 



William Wordsworth . 9 



Mariner." Poor poets ! And poor Cottle too. The latter 
]:)rinte'd live hundred copies. The sliort-sighted reviewers 
mostly condemned it. The public, consequently, refused to 
buy it. Cottle sold most of the edition to London book- 
sellers at a loss, and, counting the copyright worthless, pre- 
sented it to Wordsworth ! This was unfortunate for our poor 
authors ; but it was still more so for their critics, who, by cen- 
suring a book filled with so much of the rich ore of real poetic 
genius, demonstrated their own incompetency. The world, 
when grown wiser, afterward reversed their verdict, and 
placed the imperishable laurel on the brows of the authors of 
"The Lyrical Ballads." 

A singular incident drove the poets from Alfoxden. The 
times were troublous. Political agitations raged throughout 
England. The wandering liabits of the two friends excited 
suspicion in the minds of their rustic neighbors that they were 
hatchers of sedition. A spy from London, whose face was 
adorned with a remarkably long nose, shadowed them. One 
day, as the poets were talking about Spinoza, the sapient 
sj>y, listening from behind a bank, thought they were talking 
about himself, under the nick-narae of "Spy-nosey." He re- 
ported that " Coleridge was a crack-brained fellow, with 
little harm in him;" but "that Wordsworth," he said, "is 
either a smuggler or a traitor, and means mischief. He never 
speaks to any one, haunts lonely places, walks by moonlight, 
and is dlw 2iy 9, ^ booing about' by himself!" The owner of 
Alfoxden, believing this rubbishy gossi]), refused to relet his 
house to a character so clouded with suspicion. The result 
was the determination of the poets to spend the winter of 
1798-99 in Germany. Thither, therefore, they went. Cole- 
ridge spent his time at Gottingen in studies which diverted 
his mind from poetry to philosophy. Wordsworth, with 
Dorothy, made Goslar his head-quarters, and spent those 
winter months writing some of his finest poems. 

The close of 1799 found Wordsworth and his sister estab- 



10 William Wordsivorth. 

Jislied in a small two-storied cottage at Grasmere, in West- 
moreland, Their resources were limited to about one hundred 
pounds (|500) a year. But both were contented. Neither 
had any expensive tastes. A very frugal table satisfied their 
healthy appetites. Their neighbors were homely yeomen. 
They found abundant enjoyment in conversation and in long 
mountain walks togetlier. Wordsworth lived much in the 
open air. " By the side of the brook that runs through Eus- 
dale," he says, " I have composed thousands of verses." 

" He murmured near the running brooks 
A music sweeter than their own." 

Meantime the public were beginning to read his poems. 
Hence, in 1800, he published a second edition of "Lyrical Bal- 
lads," enlarged by the addition of the poems written during 
his stay in Germany. In 1802 these poems were reprinted, 
and again in 1806. He was slowly gaining popularity among 
a limited, but intelligent, class of readers. 

In 1805 his tiny fortune was increased by an act of justice 
on the part of the new Lord Lonsdale, who paid a debt long 
due the heirs of Wordsworth's father, but which the old Earl 
of Lonsdale, now deceased, had obstinately refused to pay. 
This payment added some three thousand four hundred pounds 
($1 7,000) to the resources of the poet and his sister. Thus 
provided for, Wordsworth resolved to marry a lady whom he 
had long known and loved. Her name was Mary Hutchin- 
son, and she was his cousin. 

The wedded life of many great poets has been any tiling but 
romantic and happy. Dante, Milton, Shakspeare, Dryden, 
Addison, and Byron, were either mismated or unfitted by 
temperament and temper to live amiably in a relation which 
levies a perpetual tax on the self-will of both parties. But 
William Wordsworth and Mary Hutchinson, like Charles 
Wesley and Sarah Gwynne, discovered the secret of unbroken 
connubial affection. They were happy in each other, and no 



William Wordsivorth. H 



poet could pay more graceful and affectionate tribute to a 
wife than did' Wordsworth to his Mary in the following 
exquisite lines written three years after marriage : 

" She was a pliantom of delight 
When first she gleamed upon my sight ; 
A lovely apparition, sent 
To be a moment's ornament ; 
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; 
Like twihght's, too, her dusky hair; 
But all things else about her drawn 
From May-time and the cheerful dawn ; 
A dancing shape, an image gay, 
To haunt, to startle, and waylay I 

"I saw her upon nearer view, 

A spirit, yet a woman too! 

Her household motions light and free, 

And steps of virgin hberty ; 

A countenance in which did meet 

Sweet records, promises as sweet; 

A creature not too bright or good 

For human nature's daily food; 

For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and srailee. 

" And now I see with eye serene, 
Tiie very pulse of the macliine ; 
A being breathing thoughtful breath, 
A traveler between life and death ; 
The reason firm, the temperate will, 
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; 
A perfect woman, nobly planned, 
To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
And yet a spirit still, and bright 
With something of an angel hght." 

Happy in his domestic life, made almost affluent by gen- 
erous gifts from noble friends who learned to set high value 
on his genius, and by being appointed distributer of stamps 
for the county, Wordsworth's years now glided on like a 



12 William IVordstvorth. 

peaceful river. Yet they were not wholly unclouded by 
occasional trials. He was stricken with deep sorrow when 
his beloved brother, John, perished in the wreck of his ship, 
on the e\e of his intended retirement from a life hitheito 
mostly spent at sea, that he might settle at Grasmere. In 
1812 two of his liltle children were laid side by side in Grns- 
niere cliurch-yard. His grief, which was cloud-lined with sil- 
ver by the visions of his faith, is touchingly expressed in the 
following epitaph he wrote and placed on a modest bluestone 
over his boy's grave : 

" Six months to six years added iie remained 
Upon this sinful earth by sin unstained; 
blessed Lord ! whose mercy then removed 
A child whom evQvj eye that looked on loved; 
Support us, teach us, calml}^ to resign 
What we possessed, and now is wholly thine." 

The siglit of those two little graves was such a constant 
reminder of the lost treasure they held that in 1813 Words- 
worth was glad to remove to Rydal Mount, where he spent 
the last thirty-seven years of his quiet life : 

" On man, on nature, and on human life, 
Musing in solitude." 

Perhaps the most vexatious trial of our poet's long life was 
hjs treatment by the reviewers of that day, particularly by 
the brilliant, but caustic, Jeffrey, who was the ruling spirit of 
the "Edinburgh Review." Not content with his first sweep- 
ing condemnation of the lyrical ballads, that redoubtable 
critic kept up through several years a running fiie of vitupe- 
ration, sarcasm, ridicule, and invective on Wordsworth's sub- 
sequent poems. Their simplicity he sneered at as puerility. 
The homely character of their subjects he condemned as sav- 
oring of vulgarity. Their style, which was prosaic in form 
when compared with that of all former poets, he pronounced 



William Wordsworth. 13 

unpoetic. Their pictures of the workings of dispassionate 
and pure human affections he reviled as being tame and unim- 
pressive. And their treatment of such high themes as im- 
mortality he pronounced affected, tedious, and unintelligible. 
By keeping their excellences out of sight, and by presenting 
the feeblest of the many feeble lines they unquestionably con- 
tained, he made most of his readers believe that Wordsworth 
was no poet. At that time public opinion respecting books 
and authors was largely formed by what the reviewers wrote ; 
and when they kept Wordsworth under perpetual ban the 
public for a long time ceased to buy his books. 

How did Wordsworth endure this critical maltreatment? 
Was he silenced ? Nay. His genius was a living fountain 
which would flow whether encouraged or condemned. Was 
he coerced into a different choice of themes and the adopting 
of other modes of treating them ? Not entirely; yet, like a 
wise man, he so far modified his subsequent writings as to 
select a higher order of themes, and to abstain from his early 
use of the most homely phrases employed by the humbler 
classes in their daily conveisation. Nevertheless, he stood 
substantially to his oiiginal purpose of making poetry the in- 
strument, not of impure passion and sensuous imagery, but 
of lofty sentiments, high suggestions, noble thoughts, and 
pure affection. Here is what he w^rote of his poems to a 
friend when his rising fame was, as it seemed, hopelessly 
eclipsed: 

"Trouble not yourself upon their present reception. Of 
what moment is that compared with what I trust is their 
destiny ! — to console the afflicted, to add sunshine to daylight, 
by making the happy happier, to teach the young and gra- 
cious of every age to see, to think, and feel, and, therefore, 
to become more actively and securely virtuous. This is their 
office, which I trust they will faithfully perform after we — 
that is, all that is mortal of us — are moldering in our graves." 

This is the dignified language, not of a vain fool, but of a 



14 Willia77i Wo7'dswo7-th. 

brave man defying the frowns of a misjudging public, because 
he was conscious that his work was not trashy tinsel, but 
pure, solid gold, certain in the end to be rated at its real 
value. The event proved that this was not empty boasting, 
but veritable prophecy. 

C.iroline Fox, in her "Memories of Old Friends," says that 
Lady Holland, at one of her distinguished assemblies, asked 
Mr. Henry Taylor what he was doing. Tliat genileman told 
her ladyship he was writing a review of Wordsworth for the 
"Quarterly." " What! " exclaimed Lady HolLind, in whose 
mind the cynical criticisms of Jeflfrey had made lasting lodg- 
ment ; " what ! absolutely busied about the man wdio writes 
of caps and pinafores, and that sort of thing!" 

To this contemptuous remark Taylor, who represented the 
new opinion of Wordsworth's worth which had already 
sprung up, very gravely rejoined : 

"That is a mode of criticising Wordsworth which has been 
obsolete for the last ten years," 

Yes, such hypercriticisms of our poet ns dropped from 
Jeffrey's biting pen are indeed obsolete ; and although some 
readers are still perj^lexed by the thin vail of philosophical 
obscurity which is upon some of his poems, yet the great 
body of intelligent and cultivated readers now class him with 
the best masters of the poetic art. One cannot justly pro- 
nounce him a Christian poet, because he never sought to 
guide his readers into the inner sanctuary of the spiritual 
life. Nevertheless, he certainly, as Professor Shairp remarks, 
" every- W' here leads to its outer court, lifting our thoughts 
into a region neighboring to heaven, . . . bringing down on 
the transitory things of eye and ear some shadow of the 
eternal, till we 

" ' Feel through all this fleshly dress 
Bright shoots of everlastingaess.' " 

fProbably no uninspired man, no poet living or dead, ever 
looked so deeply into nature, ever found so many lessons in 



William Wordsworth. 15 

natural objects fitted to build up elevated character, as 
William Woedsworth. His insiglit into the "heart of nat- 
ure " was truly marvelous. His sympathy v^^ith her life was 
so deep th:it to him her every product was instinct with con-v 
scions life. 

Still more intense av;is his perception of the all-pervading 
presence of the invisible Author of nature throughout the 
universe, when in ra[)t meditation he felt 

"Something far more deeply interfused, 
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 
And the round ocean, and the living air, 
And the blue sky, and in the mind of men : 
A motion and a feeling that impels 
All thinking things, all objects of all thought, 
And rolls through all things." 

The poet's life at Rydal Mount was spent in peace and 
honor. His star had emerged clear and bright from behind 
the clouds of superficial criticism and popular neglect. The 
University of Oxford, in 1839, lionored him with the degree 
of Doctor of Civil Law. In 1842 a government pension of 
£300 per year added to his already comfortable income. In 
1843 he succeeded his friend Southey as poet-laureate. His 
works were widely read. The breath of fame trumpeted his 
name, and his own experience taught him that 

"Peace settles where the intellect is meek, 

The faith heaven strengthens when He molds the creed." 

When he was seventy-seven a deep shadow from the realm 
of Death fell upon his noble heart. His daughter Dora died. 
Yet, while he bowed his majestic head over her cold, silent 
remains, he could and did say, " Our sorrow I feel is for life, 
but God's will be done ! " 

Three years later, on the 23d of April, 1850, the poet him- 
self breathed his own life away, passing peacefully into that 
Great Unknown men call Eternity. 



DIVINE LESSONS FROM NATURAL OBJECTS. 

Consider the lilies how they grow : they toil not, they spin 
not ; and yet I say unto yon, that Solomon in all his glory was 
not arrayed like one of these. If then God so clothe the grass, 
which is to day in the field, and to-morrow is cast into the 
oven ; how ranch more will he clothe yon, O ye of little faith ! 

Sing, O ye heavens, . . . shout, ye lower parts of the earth : 
break forth into singing, ye- mountains, O forest, and every 
tree therein : for the Lord hath redeemed Jacob, and orlorified 
himself in Israel. 

As for man, his days are as grass; as a flower of the field 
so he flourisheth ; for the wind passeth over it, and it is 
gone : and the place thereof shall know it no more. 

He shall come down like rain upon the mown grass: as 
showers that water the earth. 

Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles ? Even 
so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit ; but a corrupt 
tree bringeth forth evil fruit ; . . . wherefore by their fruits 
ye shall know them. 

Sing unto the Lord with thanksgiving; . . . who covereth 
the heaven with clouds, who prepareth rain for the earth, who 
maketh grass to grow upon the mountains. He giveth to the 
beast his food, and to the young ravens which cry. He de- 
lighted not in the strength of the horse. . . . The Lord taketh 
pleasure in them that fear him ; in those that hope in his mercy. 

And he showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as 
crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. 
Li the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, 
was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, 
and yielding her fruit every month : and the lea\es of the 
tree were for the healing of the nations. 

Blessed are they that do his commandments, that thej^ may 
have right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the 
gates into the city. 



[thougut-outline^to help the memokt.] 

1. Bora? Ancestors? Family? Child life? Mother? Scotch proverb about 

•the "spoon?" Early ciiaracter? Mother's death ? 

2. School life ? Father's deiitli ? College education ? Poetic beginninsrs? Prof. 

Shairp's testimony ? College habits? Books lie liked ? Keputation as a 
scholar on leaving college? 

3. Life in Loudon? Wales ? Paris ? His sister — her ministry of help to him ? 

Calvert ? Legacy ? Coleridge at Kacedown { His opinion of Wordsworth ? 

4. Kemoval in 1797? Celel)rated ''joint poem?" Eemoval from Alfoxden ? 

Winter of 1798-99 ? Home at Gi-asinere? Increased financial resources? 
Marriage? Bereavements? Jettrey's assault? Effects on Wordsworth? 
Lady Holland and Mr. Henry Taylor? Present estimate of Wordsworth? 

5. College honors? Government pension? Poet-laureate? Bereavement? 

Death ^ 



o:e3:^^xjt..a^tjqxj.a^ tei^^t-ibooi^s. 



No. 1. Biblical Exploration. A Con- 
densed Manual mi How to Sliidy the 
Bil.lo. By J. il. Vmcent, D.D. Full 
and rich 10 

No. 2. Stuilies of the Stars, A Pocket 
Guide to iho t?cieuce of Astronomy. 
By H. W. Warren, D.D 10 

N.». r?. Bil.lo Studies for Little Teople. 
ISv Eev. B T. Vincent 10 

No. 4. En-lish History. Bv J. H. Vin- 
cent, D.li 10 

No. 5. Gnsk History. By J. H. Vin- 
cent, D.D... 10 

No. fi. Gw.rk Li'.erature. By A. D. 
Vail, DD 20 

No. 7. Mcuiori:il Days of the Chautau- 
qua Lit(M:u> and Scientific Circle 10 

Nn. 8. Wiiat Noted .Men Think of iho 
Bible. l!y L. T. I'liwnsend, D.D 10 

No. William Cuil.-n Bryant 10 

No. 10. Wliat \.i l-:ducation. By Wm. 

V. rhelps, A.M 10 

No. 11. Socrates. \',y Prof. W. P. Phelps, 
A.M _' 10 

No. 12. P.stalozzi. Bv Prof. W F. 
Piicl|w, A.M....' : 10 

No. V.i. Anglo-Saxon. By Prof. Albert 
S. Cook > 20 

No. 14. Horace Mnnn. By Prof Wm 
F. Phelps, A.M 10 

No. 1"). Frijebel. By Prof. Wm. F 
Phelps A.M 10 

No. 16. Roman History. By J. H. Vin- 
cent, D.D 10 

No. 17. PbOger Aachnm and John Stiirm. 
Glimi)ses of Education in the Six- 
teenth Centurv. Bv Prof. Wm F. 
Phelps, A.M...:.....' ;... 10 

No. 18. Chri.-.tian Evidences. Bv J. H. 
Vincent, D.D .' lo 



No. 19. The Book of Books. By J. .M. 

Freeman, D.D 

No. 20. The Chautautjua Hand Book 

By J. H. Vincent, D.D 

N'>. 21. American Hi.'-torv. By J. L. 

Hu'il.nt, A.M '. 

N-. 2-2. Biblical Bidorry. i3y Bcv. J 

H. Wythe, A.M., M.D" .' 

No. 23. English Literature. By Prof. 

J. H, Gilmore 

No. 21. Catiadi.'tn History. By .lame.s 

L. Hughes 

No. 23. Self-Education, By Joseph' Al- 

den, D.D., LL.D 

No 26. The Tabernacle. By Rev. John 

(\nill 

No. 27. Readings from Ancient Classics. 
No. 28. Manners and Customs of Bible 

Times. By J. M. Freeman, D.D 

No. 29. Man's Antiquity and Language. 

By M. S. Terrv, D.D . . 

No. 30. 'i'he World of Missions." By 

Henry K. Carroll 

No. 31. What Noted Men Think of 

Christ. Bv L. T. Town.send, D.D . 
No. 32. A Brief Outline of the History 

of Art. By Miss Julia B. De Forest 
No. .33. Elihu Burritt: "The Learned 

Blacksmith." By Charles Northend. 
No. .34. Asiatic History : China, Coroa, 

Japan. By Rev. Wm. Elliot Griflis. . 
No. 3.5. Outlines of General History. 

»y J. H. Vincent. D.D ". 

No. 36. Assemblv Bible Outlines. By 

J. H. Vincent, D.D 

No. 37. Assembly Normal Outlines. By 

J. H.Vincent, "D.D 

No. 38. The Life of Christ. By Rev. 

J. L. Hurlbut, M.A -. 

No. 39. The Sunda\ -School Normal 

Chass. By J. H. Vincent, D.D 



10 



10 



Published by PHILLIPS & HUNT, 805 Broadway, New York, 



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